History of the Rise and Progress of the Arts of Design in the United States, Том 2

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George P. Scott and Company, Printers, 1834

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Стр. 90 - Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.
Стр. 268 - On the day appointed, I arrived at two o'clock, and began the picture. I found him a bad sitter. He talked all the time, and asked a multitude of questions about America — how I liked Italy, what I thought of the Italians, &c. When he was silent, he was a better sitter than before ; for he assumed a countenance that did not belong to him, as though he were thinking of a frontispiece for Childe Harold.
Стр. 172 - thou queen of my heart, Thy portrait I oft have essay'd ; Yet ne'er to the canvas could I with my art The least of thy wonderful beauties impart ; And my failure with scorn you repaid. " Now I swear by the light of the Comet-King's tail !
Стр. 177 - And it came to pass, as they were burying a man, that, behold, they spied a band of men ; and they cast the man into the sepulchre of Elisha : and when the man was let down, and touched the bones of Elisha. he revived, and stood up on his feet.
Стр. 172 - Enthroned in the midst, on an emerald bright, Fair Geraldine sat without peer ; Her robe was a gleam of the first blush of light, And her mantle the fleece of a noon-cloud white, And a beam of the moon was her spear. In an accent that stole on the still, charmed air Like the first gentle language of Eve, Thus spake from her chariot the fairy so fair : " I come at thy call, but, O Paint-King, beware, Beware if again you deceive...
Стр. 173 - I am lost!" said the fiend, and he shook like a leaf; When, casting his eyes to the ground, He saw the lost pupils of Ellen, with grief, In the jaws of a mouse, and the sly little thief Whisk away from his sight with a bound.
Стр. 173 - High-lifting, she hurl'd him in speechless despair Down the depths of the chasm profound. Then over the picture thrice waving her spear, "Come forth!
Стр. 170 - Yet doomed, like the moon, with no being to cheer The bright barren waste of her mind. But, rather than sit like a statue so still, When the rain made her mansion a pound, Up and down would she go, like the sails of a mill, And pat every stair, like a woodpecker's bill, From the tiles of the roof to the ground. One morn, as the maid from her casement inclined, Passed a youth with a frame in his hand.
Стр. 365 - Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.
Стр. 156 - Tis in this way that poets and painters keep their minds .young. How else could the old man make the page or the canvass palpipate with the hopes and fears and joys, the impetuous, impassioned emotions of youthful lovers or reckless heroes ? There is a period of life when the ocean of time seems to force upon the mind a barrier against itself, forming as it were a permanent beach, on which the advancing years successively break, only to be carried back by a returning current to that furthest deep...

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